


Found the Place to Rest My Head

by Signsofsam



Series: 9-1-1 Week 2020 [6]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 9-1-1 Week 2020, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chris Diaz is a BAMF, Day 6, Gen, One Shot, Post-Tsunami (9-1-1), Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, pre-Buddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signsofsam/pseuds/Signsofsam
Summary: He wants to give up, but then he presses more into Buck, his hand more into Buck’s side. Buck’s bleeding-Dad said he had to take something that made it easier for him to bleed, when he was trying to explain it to Chris after Buck’s party-and Chris can’t just let him die here. “I’m not going to stop, Bucky, I’m not. I’m gonna be brave like you, and like Dad, and I’m...I’m going to keep calling, I promise,” he whispers, reaching over with his free hand to pat the outline of Buck’s face.And he calls.And he calls.And he calls.He’s looked in the water once, but won’t again, because he’s seen the outline of what he’s pretty sure is dead people, and he doesn’t get too close to the side of the fire truck, because he doesn’t want to be one of those bodies for his Dad to find later.Or to not find at all.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: 9-1-1 Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816903
Comments: 12
Kudos: 295
Collections: 9-1-1 Tales





	Found the Place to Rest My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "I'm not going" + angst
> 
> Title is from _Never Let Me Go_ by Florence + the Machine 
> 
> We're again handwaving my medical inaccuracies.

It’s dark, and all Chris can see in the weak light of the flickering street lamp is the outlines of debris and the lapping water below them. He’s still wet, and cold, trembling just a bit, and he can only guess how long they’ve been on top of the abandoned fire truck-Buck’s phone is gone, his backpack is gone, everything is gone.

And Buck...Bucky hasn’t made much noise in awhile.

“Someone, please!” he calls out, but it’s weak; he’s just so tired, from holding on to the pole and swimming in the nasty water and having to work to get up on top of the fire truck, even if Buck had done most of that work. His entire body is sore, and he’s been pressing with as much force as he can muster against Buck’s side, where red started blooming and just hasn’t stopped, since Buck’s hand had fallen from his side. He’d lost consciousness sometimes after the sun set; he’d stop answering, stop telling Chris how proud he was of him, what a great job he’d done today.

And now there is nothing but silence, and Chris is _scared,_ more scared than he’d been at any point today, including when he was under the water and being pushed and shoved in so many directions. He had Buck then, knew Buck would be the one to save him.

Now, Buck needs help and Chris can’t do anything but call, so he’s going to keep at it, even as weak as he is.

So he calls out, over and over, like his dad taught him (and oh god, his dad...does Dad know how much Chris loves him? That he’s Chris’ hero and has been since he knew what a hero was? Does Dad know that he’s out here, lost? Is Dad looking for him?), over and over-”Help!” “I’m here!” “Help me!” “Someone!” “Someone help me!”

He wants to give up, but then he presses more into Buck, his hand more into Buck’s side. Buck’s bleeding-Dad said he had to take something that made it easier for him to bleed, when he was trying to explain it to Chris after Buck’s party-and Chris can’t just let him die here. “ **I’m not going** to stop, Bucky, I’m not. I’m gonna be brave like you, and like Dad, and I’m...I’m going to keep calling, I promise,” he whispers, reaching over with his free hand to pat the outline of Buck’s face.

And he calls.

And he calls.

And he calls.

He’s looked in the water once, but won’t again, because he’s seen the outline of what he’s pretty sure is dead people, and he doesn’t get too close to the side of the fire truck, because he doesn’t want to be one of those bodies for his Dad to find later.

Or to not find at all.

His voice is nearly gone, just over a whisper, when he sees the light. It’s small, and so far away, but it’s a light, so he sucks in a breath, gathers all his strength, and screams “HERE!” as loud as he can, and it’s a shout. 

It’s all he’s got though, and he’s spent, tired and cold and aching and wet. Every last bit of energy is wrung out of him.

But it works.

The searchlight pans over the street until it lands on the firetruck, blinding Chris, and he hears shouts. People are shouting, an engine is gunning, and there’s a boat, heading to them.

_Help_.

_Bucky, they’re coming for us_ , he thinks, since he doesn’t think he can talk, shivering, curling closer to Buck. _I did it. I did it, Bucky. You saved us, but I saved us, too._

The boat pulls up alongside them, and Chris blinks owlishly as the light is trained off to the side. “Christopher?” 

It’s Bobby. 

“Bo-” he starts, but his throat is so sore, and he can feel the tears. He doesn’t want to cry, but he can’t help it, because if it’s Bobby, that means Dad is near and he really, really just wants his dad right now. “Bo-bobby,” he manages, hoarse. “Buck. Buck….hurt. Bleed-”

“Okay, okay, don’t talk, buddy. You’re fine, you’re both fine, we’re here. Can you come to me?” Bobby’s holding his hands out, but Chris shakes his head, making some sort of panicked strangled noise he’s going to be embarrassed about later, but Bobby wants him to _let go of Buck_ and he can’t. He can’t move his hand. 

Bobby frowns, and uses his flashlight to follow the line of Chris’ body, probably to check if he’s hurt, and then he finally follows his hand, to where it’s still pressed as hard as he can against Buck’s side. “Okay, bud, Chim’s gonna come up there, and take over. He’s on his way now, see?”

And Chim is climbing onto the other part of the firetruck, walking slowly towards them. He sets his bag and light down in front of them, smiling at Chris. “You’ve done a great job, buddy. Can I check him?” Chris nods, instantly, and Chim nods, too. “What’ve you got yourself into now, Buckaroo?” He’s checking for a pulse, and what if there is none and it’s all because of Chris and- “He’s got a pulse, Cap. It’s not great, but it’s there. Tell them we’re going to need an immediate evac to the hospital as soon as we get there. He’s lost a lot of blood.” 

He turns back to his bag, grabbing some bandages, turning back to show them to Chris. “On three, I need you to lift your hand so I can put these down, okay? Then you need to go to Cap so we can get Buck out of here. That’s important-you gotta get off here first and be safe before Buckaroo can go, so I need you to help me, okay? You think you can do all that?” When Chris nods, tears still coming, Chim smiles again. “Good man, Christopher. Okay, ready?” Another nod. “One, two, NOW, Chris!” Chris lifts his hand, and he watches Chim press bandages against Buck’s side. “Go now!”

Chris scrambles, and it hurts, so much. He has been sitting in one position for a long time, and moving makes everything _ache_ , and he thinks he's going to fall as he loses his balance, into the water and with the bodies and what if Dad has to find him? and Bobby’s got him, wrapping him in a hug. “Hey, Buddy, I got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Chris can’t stop shaking, not when Bobby squeezes him a little tighter, not when he wraps a blanket around him, then another, not when he sets him in the boat. He’s still shaking when they managed to get Buck-still unresponsive, and still _bad_ , if Chimney’s frown is anything to judge-onto the boat, and Bobby barks out an order for Chim to give Chris a once-over as he gets the engine started, and they’re finally leaving.

He doesn’t remember passing out, but he does, and it’s blissful darkness.

\--//--//--

His dad is right beside him when he wakes up. He’s asleep, curled over Chris’ legs, holding his hand, and Chris can’t help his gasp, which wakes his dad.

“Daddy,” he whispers, and Eddie lets out a strangled cry, pulling his son into a tight hug.

“ _Gracias a Dios_ ,” Eddie says, and he’s crying; he gets Chris’ forehead wet as he kisses him, thanking God over and over. “I was so worried, _mijo_.” Chris opens his mouth to talk, to ask for Buck, but Eddie shakes his head, running a hand through Chris’ hair, gentle in the tangles. “Don’t talk right now. Your throat is going to be very sore for awhile, bud. You want some ice chips?” And Eddie’s right; Chris’ throat _is_ sore, so he nods, eating a few of the chips in the cup beside his bed. Eddie hands him a notepad and pen, and though it’s hard (everything is sore, not just his throat), he writes out Buck’s name.

Eddie’s smile turns sad. “Oh, buddy, I, um...Buck’s not doing so hot right now. He lost a lot of blood, and you guys were out there for a long time. He’s still-he’s still sleeping, and the doctors aren’t sure if he’s going to wake up.” Eddie’s barely keeping it together while he talks to Chris, because all he wants to do is break down and cry and he _can’t_ because he has to be a father first. “But good news is now that you’re awake, the doctor should let you go home.”

Chris’ lip is wobbling, and he can feel the tears slipping. He turns back to the notepad, and manages to write out “ _my fault_?”. Eddie shakes his head fast, both hands coming up to cup Chris’ face, and the tears are streaming down his cheeks now, too much to contain. “Oh, baby, no, none of this is your fault. Buck would be dead if it weren’t for you; you gave him a fighting chance. You saved him.”

Chris shakes his head, frantic, and grabs the pen again: “ _he saved me_.”

“He did, but you saved him too, _mijo_. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you did, I promise. You did so good today, and I don’t think I could be any more proud of you. And I know if Buck were here, he’d tell you how proud he was of you, too.”

Chris nods, and Eddie kisses his forehead again. “I’m going to go find one of the doctors, see if I can spring you, hmm? I’m sure you’d much rather have your own bed right now.”

It takes a while longer, and then even longer to get home, and even _longer_ to be okay with a bath, with Eddie washing his son’s hair as gently as he can to scrub out the grime and dried blood and sea, careful of the cuts that litter his face and arms and the bruises that are scattered across his body. Eddie helps him into his favorite, most comfy pair of pjs, grabbing his back-up crutches from his closet to rest against his nightstand, in easy reach. He tucks his son into bed, his favorite dinosaur right beside him, and kisses his forehead again as he murmurs, “night, buddy, sleep tight” (even if it’s closer to noon; Chris doesn’t need to know that) and waits with his son until he falls asleep again.

Eddie waits by his bed until he wakes up, too, just in case there are nightmares or bad dreams, and just to make sure Chris is _here_ and _real_. His worst nightmare almost came true, and he can’t stand to not be close to Chris right now. He keeps his phone with him, texting with Hen, who’s on the current leg of Buck watch. It’s twelve hours of the same routine-watch Chris sleep, look at his phone, watch his son, take a bathroom break, watch his son, shove some food down, watch his son, back to his phone, over and over until Chris wakes, and his first question (in a gravely, hoarse voice barely above a whisper) is, “how’s Buck?” because of course.

“How about we get you some food and see how you feel afterwards?”

It’s almost three hours later when Eddie and Chris shuffle into the hospital hallway, Chris still sore and exhausted and moving much slower than normal, but he’s talking and he’s happy ( _and he’s alive_ ) and Eddie can’t really ask for anything more. They stop outside the closed door to Buck’s room, and Eddie squats to be at his son’s eye-level. “Okay, bud, you sure about this?”

“Bucky needs us, Daddy; of course I’m sure.”

“You really are a real-life Superman, you know that, _mijo_?” Chris nods, and Eddie can’t help but laugh, pressing a kiss into Chris’ curls as he stands and opens the hospital room door.

Hen and Karen are there, Karen in the chair and Hen sitting on the bed, and they’re both smiling and talking animatedly to a very _awake_ Evan Buckley. “BUCKY!” Chris cries, pushing past his dad to wobble his way as fast as possible. Hen catches him about halfway there and picks him up, smacking a kiss to his cheek as she sets him on Buck’s bed. 

Honestly, Buck looks _awful_ , thin and pale and bruised, cuts across his face and his arms and Eddie can see a bandage peeking out from under his gown, but he’s _awake_ , and for the second time in as many days, Eddie can exhale again. Whatever apprehension left in Eddie seeps out as Buck hugs Chris as tight as he can manage, his face buried in Chris’ hair, like he has to breathe him in to make sure he’s not dreaming, and Eddie completely knows the feeling.

“Sorry to spring this on you,” Karen says as Eddie leans down to give her a hug and a kiss on her cheek. “He woke up right after you texted Hen that you were coming, and he wanted to surprise you.”

“It’s fine,” he assures both her and Hen, and it is. Everything is completely fine for Eddie.

Buck’s going to be okay.

Christopher’s going to be okay.

He could have lost so much in the tsunami, but he didn’t; his entire world is safe, and alive, and awake, and he can finally breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you in advance for the comments/kudos! Tomorrow, we return to the _I Hate Accidents_ 'verse for Day 7. Hope you're all doing fabulously! If you want, you can find me [here](https://signsofsam.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


End file.
